


Just At Cards

by violentandunpopular



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blood, Cheating, Dirty Talk, GTA AU, M/M, Murder, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3870958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentandunpopular/pseuds/violentandunpopular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael rocks Gavin's world, but he's not the only one. Gavin's cheating at more than cards and he's going to pay. (GTA AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just At Cards

The bedframe tapped against the wall in a loud, ugly rhythm. Neither of the men cared – straining, huffing, bare of anything but their sweat as they writhed together on the stale sheets. Pale, freckled flesh in contrast to sun-kissed skin. Long fingers with blunt nails raked down Michael's shoulder blades and made the boy _howl_ and snap his hips harder to bury his cock in that snug hole. They hadn't used enough lube but they both craved the burn, the stretch and friction. Gavin's eyes were wet with unshed tears but his cock leaked against his furred belly, moans spilling from his lips in a constant, embarrassing stream. They were always rough, coming together with biting kisses and hard gropes that bruised their skin in splotches.

  
  


“Michael!” Gavin cried out, accent thick and rounding out the name into something sweet.

  
  


“Fucking hot little twink,” Michael puffed into the Brit's throat, fingertips digging in hard. “My fuckhole.” His lips pulled back in a snarl. “Aren't you?” A weak whimper met his ears but it wasn't enough. “ _Answer me_.”

  
  


“Yes, Michael, _yes_.” Gavin's hair scrubbed against the sheet as he thrashed, little white pinpricks in his vision as the plump head started mercilessly rubbing against the sweet spot inside him. Hot sparks shot up through his belly and he clawed up Michael's shoulders, baring down hard to try and feel every inch and ridge of that cock

  
  


“Fucking see you bending over in front of Haywood all the time.” Michael grabbed the Brit's leg and slung it over his shoulder, fingers digging into his shoulder for leverage to fuck harder. “See you when you strip after a heist and show yourself off. You want to play whore for the guys? Bounce on Daddy Geoff’s lap and let Ryan fuck your mouth, gag around his dick and drool like a little bitch.”

  
  


Gavin groaned and tugged the boy's curls. “ 'm yours, boi.”

  
  


“Fuck yes you are,” Michael grunted, sweat stinging his eyes. “Mine. Only cock you're gonna' bounce on is mine, you little shit. No one gets to fuck you but me.”

  
  


Gavin nodded feverishly, eyes halved and dark. “Spoiled on your cock, Michael. Don't want another.”

  
  


Michael felt a manic grin twist his lips and the dark gleam in his eye made the Brit whimper.”

  
  


“ _Mine_.”

  
  


–

  
  


The heist had gone better than usual. Michael had driven them all out of there with pinprick precision and they'd escaped with bags of cash and without a scratch. Gavin was getting the bevs together with the others while Michael went to get changed and then he _found it_.

  
  


There on pillow of _their_ bed. He plucked it up between his fingers and held it up to the light. Long, bottle-red. A single hair.

  
  


A glaze of rage colored Michael's world and he started to shake, the hair falling from his weak fingers. He stared at the carpet, the heist replaying in his mind. They'd had a few narrow misses – a splash of blood, a rain of bullets. He'd kissed Gavin outside the bank and now all he could see was see his boy's fingers tangled in long, bright hair and kissing thin lips, long lashes batting at the Brit. A small, curvy body rolling around their bed, milky thighs parting for his boy to settle between.

  
  


Bile churned in Michael's belly and he dropped to his knees. He leaned against the bed and took in long, rough breaths while his fingers twitched so hard he thought he'd lost control of them. Michael clenched his eyes shut and remembered the way he'd laughed with Gavin today, the way they'd laughed for more than a year now. Playing video games and stealing money, taking down Cockbite, fucking every day until they were both raw, sweaty messes. They screamed and laughed and cried and fucked – they were partners in every way.

  
  


Michael's jaw clenched and he felt the shutters in his heart fall, something akin to barbed wire wrapping around his lungs. A cold washed over him and it all made perfect sense.

  
  


They couldn't have one without the other.

  
  


–

  
  


_Thunk. Thunk._

  
  


It was a wet, solid sound and completely out of place for the safehouse. Geoff came in whistling but quieted into a defensive stance when he heard it. There were little grunts of exertion to couple the strange squelch. Had someone broken in? As far as he knew, only Michael was at the house. Had his boy caught an intruder and taken care of him?

  
  


Geoff pulled out his handheld and followed the sound to the game room. Ray had set it up for them – it was swollen with video games and two pool tables, PC's and Xboxs and even a few table top games. It was one of their most-used rooms and if Michael was anywhere it was there. He crept into the open doorway and scanned the room, ready to defend his wheelsman. His eyes swept over the oak wood of the pool tables and their splay of green, over the kicked-off tennis shoes, Michael's purple faux-varsity jacket, and Gavin's backpack. He could smell the strange mix of their colognes, cheap Axe and too-expensive English leather. There were playing cards and crumpled bills spilled all over the table near the TV and the couches, an overturned chair.

  
  


And copper. Sharp and bright, cutting through the artificial smells.

  
  


_Thunk. Thunk._ Heavy breaths. A low whine. “Michael?”

  
  


Geoff hurried inside and circled around the couch, ready to pull someone off Michael and shoot, but he was frozen. His stomach bottomed out as he watched the boy wield the knife _he_ gave him for his birthday last month – raising it up in a systematic arc before slamming it back down into flesh to make another wet _thunk_. Michael was panting hard enough to have been flushed but instead he was washed out, sickly pale with a busted lip that painted his full lips scarlet. He stared with a horrifying dullness down at the body he was straddling, robotically yanking the knife out again. There was no spray of blood, only a lazy bubble that oozed to add to the heavy pool of it on the floor.

  
  


Geoff gagged silently. _Gavin_.

  
  


Golden hair was matted with blood, a clear red handprint slapped across his face like it had been turned away. And there it had stayed. Geoff couldn't see his face but he imagined it with an expression of surprise. The Brit was still in old, worn sleep clothes – he'd been taken off guard. There were dark ruby lines cut all along his waist, shining and would've been considered almost pretty if they weren't deep gouges and surrounded by jagged rips, bits of loose flesh.

  
  


Michael didn't stop, didn't look away. He drove the knife deep into the limp body to make it rock slightly, balde going hilt-deep between ribs to slot nicely inside the cooling form. The meat inside those wounds was shredded by now, just a gross mix of organ and blood and tissue. From what Geoff could tell, Gavin had been gone for a while now, maybe one of the first stabs taking him out or the light bruising at his throat.

  
  


Geoff felt his own throat threaten to close, chest tightening painfully. He almost dropped the pistol but instead flicked back on the safety. He didn't want to turn Michael against him, he didn't want to make any rash decisions. They were in the business off heavy theft, they killed a dozen people a day, but that was his Gavin laying there and heaving under each mindless blow. He'd known him since the boy was sixteen and now he was just...another body to hide.

  
  


He needed to talk to Ryan and Jack and _not_ throw up all over his shoes. Now that he was close he could smell the rottingly sweet smell of death and to know it was one of his boy's made his stomach churn.

  
  


“Michael, _why_?” Geoff groaned, a pained grimace twisting his lips. “Jesus, he was your fucking boyfriend. He was like...” _Like a son to me. You both were_.

  
  


Michael finally stopped. The knife hung in the air, ready to bury deep in the ruined flesh, but it didn't. Glazed, doe eyes rose up to meet that grieved gaze of the boss but there wasn't even a _flicker_ of emotion there except for a deep, echoing sadness.

  
  


“He cheated.”

  
  


Geoff slowly lowered to his knees. “What?”

  
  


“We played Poker and he was hiding cards.”

  
  


His mouth fell open and tears stung the corner of his eyes. “ _Jesus_ , kid.”

  
  


“Can you do something for me, Boss?”

  
  


The small, childish tone struck Geoff hard. He was looking at his worst nightmare – a son slaughtering the other, a member of the crew _snapping_. For a moment he thought Ryan's madness had seeped into the boy but there was no manic tone, no malicious gleam in his eyes, and the hand holding the crusted knife was steady enough to show determination and a heavy thread of remorse.

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“Can you go find Meg?”

  
  


Geoff's guts soured. “Why?”

  
  


“ _Because she's next_.”

  
  



End file.
